


The ache for home lives with all of us

by RedWritingHood



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, At least I think it's Hurt/Comfort, Bart is a cinnamon roll, Brad Pitt is not a part of this fic, Family Issues, First Meetings, Gen, Is issues even a word anymore, Issues upon issues upon issues, Jason is secretly also a cinnamon roll, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Not to be confused with Pitt rage, Pit Rage, Suddenly I don't know how to tag, The Lazarus Effect - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 00:59:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWritingHood/pseuds/RedWritingHood
Summary: Jason meets Impulse.He doesn't know how long he sits there before a sudden wind blasts through the alleyway, and a young voice startles him, speaking as if they'll explode if they don't get the words out fast enough: "Areyouokay? Doyouneedhelp? BecauseI'maheroandIcouldtakeyoutoahospitalorsomething--"





	The ache for home lives with all of us

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely think preboot Robin-Tim era or Young Justice Bart for this fic.

The first time Jason meets Bart Allen, he's in a bad way.

He's on the ground, leaning his shoulder against a wall, curled in on himself while tremors shudder all throughout his body as the Lazarus Pit makes bloody hell with his head.

Like an ocean tide, it ebbs away only to rise up once more, scrabbling over the cracks and edges of his damaged mind.

He doesn't know how long he sits there before a sudden wind blasts through the alleyway, and a young voice startles him, speaking as if they'll explode if they don't get the words out fast enough: " _Areyouokay? Doyouneedhelp? BecauseI'maheroandIcouldtakeyoutoahospitalorsomething_ \--"

Jason cracks his eyes open, and nearly groans.

It's that mini-Flash, the tiny younger one. What was he called? Reckless? Impulsive? No, that's not it-- it was just Impulse.

"You gotta get out of here, kid," he rasps. "'S dangerous."

The kid goes on as if he hasn't heard him. " _You'reshaking, areyoucold? Icangetyou_ \--" He disappears for a beat, then pops back just as quickly. "-- _ablanketforthat_." A multi-colored afghan drifts down over Jason's legs. 

Jason stares for a moment, dumbfounded. "It's not-- it's not the cold, kid," he hears himself say.

Impulse cocks his head. " _Areyousick? Idon'tknowwhatthat'slike, butGrandpasaysit'sreallybad._ "

Jason manages to translate that, eventually, and says, "Not sick, either, I just--" The tide rises again, and he has to clamp his mouth shut, gritting his teeth against the sheer insane rage washing over his psyche like an acid, eating away at him, at his identity.

Before he can stop it, or even register the movement, Impulse slaps a hand across his forehead. It feels cool against Jason's burning skin. The kid's still for a small, unnerving moment, then announces, " _You'resick. Grandmasaysthatthequickestwaytogetbetterwhenyou'resickistorest_."

"Uh," Jason says. He hadn't caught any of that.

Impulse looks down at him, gaze intense. " _Tellmewhereyoulive. I'lltakeyouhome_."

That, Jason understands. He shakes the kid's hand off him. "Wait just a da-- a minute. I'm not sick. I just . . ." he trails off, at a loss as to how to describe his condition. "I'm not sick," he settles on.

But the tide has ebbed, and he realizes that if he's going to get anywhere on his own two feet, he's going to have to take Impulse up on that offer. If he stays here, one of his enemies could find him.

Or worse-- his family.

"I'm not sick," he says again, "but I . . ." He forces the words out, bitter as they taste. "I could use your help."

Impulse beams at him, bright as the damn sun. " _Sure! Icancarryyouto_ \--"

" _No_ ," Jason says, as quickly as he can. "You're not carrying me. Just . . . help me up and let me lean on you. I've got a safehouse nearby. I'll lead us there." Then he hesitates, presses his lips together. "And kid . . . if I try to hurt you, in any way . . . run. As far away from me as you can get."

Impulse pauses in the middle of reaching for his arm, confused. " _Whywouldyoutrytohurtme?_ "

"I," Jason says. Lets out a small, humorless huff. "I've got issues."  
Impulse blinks at him, not understanding.

Jason catches the expression on the kid's face. Finally, he says, "I'm insane. That's why."

" _Oh_ ," Impulse mouths, and does a credible job of pulling Jason up from the ground.

Jason curls his around around the kid's shoulder, trying not to put too much weight on him. "Let's go, Zippy," he says.

" _It'sImpulse_ ," the kid informs him, like he cares.

Through the Lazarus Pit sludging through his veins, Jason manages a smile that's almost genuine.

The last time this happened, it took three days for his heart to stop jumping in his chest, two days for the tremors to calm down to a slight tremble, twenty-one hours for the tide to return to that bone-deep--  _soul-deep-_ \- burning under his skin.

It's only been six hours and he's not shaking quite so hard anymore. ( _Or feeling so horribly alone_.)

He tries not to think about it.

He fails.

* * *

 

Impulse gazes around the safehouse with wide eyes.

" _You'vegotalotofweapons_ ," he says, even as he pulls Jason over to the cot by the wall. He tips his head back to look at Jason with those large, guileless eyes of his. " _Areyouabadguy_?"

Jason lets himself sink down onto the cot, shuddering through the thrum of the Lazarus Pit in the quick-paced beat of his heart, loud as drums in his ears. "I don't know about being a 'bad guy'," he lies. "But I'm more what people call an 'anti-hero' these days."

Impulse says, " _Doyoukillpeople_?"

Jason grimaces, looks down from the kid's non-accusing gaze. "Been trying not to. My . . . issues make it kind of a problem," he says, and then isn't quite sure why he's telling him the truth.

" _Beingcrazyislikethat_ ," Impulse says, knowingly, like he understands what he's talking about.

For the first time in weeks--  _months--_ Jason has the urge to laugh.

He doesn't let himself, but his lips twitch with a humor more honest and less bitter than he's felt in a long time. Since he dug himself out of his own grave.

Since the Joker put him there in the first place.

He forces the thought away. There's no place for the Joker here. Not with Impulse.

"Yeah," he says, eventually. "Yeah, it is."

" _Icanhelpwiththattoo_ ," Impulse says.

Jason stares at him like he's the crazy one. "You want to help me? With my sanity? Or lack thereof?"

The kid nods, humming a simple " _Yes_."

"Kid . . ." For once, Jason has no words. He says, "That's. That's not safe. For you. I could hurt you."

" _Youhaven'tyet_ ," Impulse points out.

"Yeah, _yet_ ," Jason grits out, rallying. "You don't get it, kid. This isn't the kind of thing that's easily fixed. Hell, I don't know if it _can_ be fixed." _If_ I _can be fixed,_ he doesn't say. "I've already hurt a lot of people. Some of them were even ones that I . . . I cared about. What makes you think you'll be any different?"

" _Grandpasaysthatweshouldhelpwheneverwecan_ ," Impulse says, intensely. " _Iwanttohelpyou_."

"I'm broken, kid," Jason forces out, before he can silence himself.

And it might just be the sound of his heart in his ears, or the look in this kid's eyes, or those words still echoing in his head; ' _I want to help you'_ like ' _you're worth it_ ' instead of ' _you need it_ '.

" _You'renotbroken_ ," Impulse says. " _You'realive_."

**Author's Note:**

> It is my personal opinion that Jason Todd is amazing and should be protected at all costs. Bart is a warm, squishy, extra-glazed cinnamon roll right out of the oven.


End file.
